Trinity of Terror
by KTE the Pikashoe
Summary: When the first plane hit the WTC on September 11 from three different perspectives. My first short story that I actually like.


A Trinity of Terror  
Jack stretched in his comfortable office chair, yawning slightly. He grabbed his coffee cup and rose from his desk, seeking out the employee lounge across the room. Once there, he stared in sleepy awe at the hot, black coffee he had just poured, striding back to his desk. He looked at his watch, and the display digitally counted seconds closer to 8:44 A.M. The office high above the ground was somewhat abuzz with those as tired and needy of their pay as he was; it seemed odd that all of these people in their suits, Dockers outfits and dresses were working for a financial company. A tap on Jack's shoulder captured his attention in an instant.  
"Hey, pal," said friendly co-worked John."  
"Good morning buddy. Oh wait, I probably shouldn't say that," Jack chuckled. John grinned and sighed heavily.  
"Man, that extra-inning baseball game has got me all exhausted . . . still, it was really exciting," said Jack's friend. Jack himself gave John a high five with a knowing smile on his face.  
"That's why you never leave a game early!" Jack said, with John joining in, "because you never know what will happen next." John's eyes twinkled in remembrance as they caught a shining light in the distance.  
"What do you suppose that is, Jack?" he asked, pointing at the object. Noise started to pour into the office, and everyone's attention was jarred from their work. Soft murmurs of, "What is that?" and "What's going on?" came from the lips of various office personnel.  
"I don't know, pal, but it appears to be coming closer," the sleepy-eyed Jack managed. Everything suddenly started to shake, and objects on cluttered desks were falling to the floor, some of them breaking. Employees looked at each other with wide eyes and shrieked. Everyone now focused on the window, where a jet could plainly be seen heading toward the building at a high speed. Someone yelled, "Quick, down the stairs, everyone!" The workers scrambled for the stairwell diagonally across from the lounge, fighting for their lives. Just as the last of them, including Jack and John, were out of sight, a huge blast sounded in and around the just-evacuated office.  
***  
Making her way through crowded sidewalks and congested crosswalks, a woman named Diane was heading to a fruit stand that she worked at. All that was on her mind, however, was the complete disarray that her apartment was in. How could she, living alone, create such a messy living environment? She could just as well hire a maid if she could afford it, but that was the curse of being a college student.  
She crossed a street with thousands of fellow street-goers and could finally smell a hint of something other than car fumes. She smiled as she approached the various food stands, newspaper stands, and miscellaneous souvenir stands that were scattered about. A clock on a nearby bank building read approximately 8:40 A.M., its colon blinking each second away before displaying temperature in both Fahrenheit and Celsius.  
A few street crossings later, and Diane reached her fruit stand. I hope I can snag a banana or something, she thought to herself. As she stepped behind the wooden frame, a large, bald man grabbed her arm.  
"Diane bebe, you gots'a eat b'fore ya com 'ere. I keep losin' me moolah 'cause of you," he laughed, patting her shoulder in a friendly manner.  
"I told you I'd pay my tab, Solomon," said Diane with a grin. She proceeded to grab an apple, since her appetite didn't care what she ate. Some of the crowd filling the sidewalk purchased a few smaller fruits, the odd person buying a honeydew melon or watermelon. Business was going well, and Diane's appetite was taken care of.  
Suddenly, as one, all of the people turned toward the sound of a jet flying through the air. It was not headed toward the airport, so it seemed out of place.  
"Wha' 'tis dat doin' 'ere?" Solomon asked nobody in particular, his voice showing alarm. Diane just gasped, and both she and Solomon cried out as the jet slammed into a large tower in the distance, the explosion visible and audible for miles. People screamed and ran away from the awful site, unknowingly destroying the very food that was for sale. The police soon closed the nearby streets, ushering people away from the billowing smoke in the distance. It seems that I will have plenty of time for cleaning after all, thought Diane as she and Solomon could only shake their heads and obey the law enforcers closing the streets.  
***  
"Welcome aboard American Airlines Flight 11, en route from Boston to Los Angeles. We hope you enjoy your flight. Before takeoff, please observe the seat belt, no smoking, and no electronics lights . . ." said the flight attendant, droning on about flight safety rules. Mary Jane yawned, barely noticing the lady in front of the coach section showing the proper use of the seat belt and emergency devices. She ran her hands through the long, curly locks of golden hair on her head and looked into a little mirror that she dug out of her purse. Noticing an imperfection on her already heavily made-up face, she applied some powder to the offending spot on her cheek.  
I hope he liked me as much as I liked him, she thought, stretching in her small window seat. She glanced down at her pink sweater and tight black pants, nodding in approval. It was definitely a pink-and-black day. With that, her thoughts went back to Donovan. He was totally dreamy; the strong, dark-haired, blue-eyed rarity of a man Mary Jane just happened to spill Starbucks tea on found her to be a drug affecting his eyes. They spent the whole weekend together plus a day, and she didn't want to go back to L.A., but once she got her affairs in order, she would find a place and start her new job, the sole reason that she was in Boston in the first place.  
The pilot of the plane interrupted her thoughts.   
"Good morning. This is your captain speaking, and the current time is 7:45 A.M. local time. We should be arriving in Los Angeles at approximately 9:50 A.M. Pacific time. On behalf of American Airlines, we all hope that you enjoy your flight. Don't hesitate to ask one of the flight attendants if you need any assistance. We are about to taxi down the runway and takeoff, so please observe the seat belt light . . ."  
A ding sounded to punctuate the last statement that Mary Jane paid attention to, and she could no longer keep her eyes open. Finishing what she interrupted at about 4:30 AM, she drifted to sleep before the plane even left the ground. The plane waited patiently for its turn to take to the sky, and it accelerated appropriately before losing touch with the ground. Most of the passengers chewed gum to combat the altitude change affecting their ears. Most of the plane was very quiet if not sleeping.  
About 30 minutes later, two men in Arab dress rose from their seats and headed toward the cockpit. They went behind the curtain and through First Class before a flight attendant took notice.  
"Excuse me, sirs, but if you have Coach tickets, you cannot be allowed into First Class. I can help you if you need anything . . ." she began. The Arab on the left pulled a knife out and held it menacingly, causing her to stop and shriek. The second Arab, realizing that the First Class passengers were looking his way, glared at them.  
"You will all be quiet and listen immediately! We will not harm any of you unless you resist us!" bellowed the dark man with his thick accent, raising his deadly blade as a threat. Two men dressed like typical Americans rose from their First Class seating, obviously with the other two men. The first Arab bellowed a command in Arabic, and the two men nodded and headed into the cockpit. The flight attendant was frozen in fear, as were the rest of the First Class passengers.  
Back in Coach, two other men were threateningly addressing the remaining people on the flight.  
"Just sit still and shut up and you will be fine for now!" said a thick-bearded man. The plane started to turn around, heading somewhat back the way it came. Mary Ann woke up to see the men with their knives drawn glancing angrily about. She twitched in shock, eyes wide. Are they going to kill us? Ohmygod, I can't believe that this could happen to men!! I never did anything to these men!! She sobbed, fully aware that there was no way they could have weapons and not be a threat. The two men spotted her sobbing, and they spoke to each other in their native tongue, chuckling and putting on evil smiles.  
Minutes later, Mary Jane somewhat regained her composure and spotted tall buildings nearby. She gasped and uttered a small cry, realizing that the plane was not slowing down and was headed straight into Manhattan. Everyone else seemed to sense her fear, and the passengers in Coach and First Class screamed and shrieked together. Arabs in First Class could be heard laughing as their evil deed was about to come to a conclusion, and the armed men in Coach chuckled some more.  
As the hijackers knew the time was near, they all screamed something in their native Arabic that ended in a very audible scream of, "ALLAH!!!" The innocents on the plane screamed in terror rather than anticipation and evil joy, and Mary Jane, face streaked with tears and makeup running, managed to scream, "I'm sorry, Donovan!!" before the plane impacted, disintegrating in an instant in an enormous ball of flame.  
***  
Diane dragged herself out of bed reluctantly, not wanting to face the day ahead of her. Nobody ever forgot what happened a year ago . . . why do we need to go through all of this? Just as she stretched and yawned, sitting on the bed in a large t-shirt that served as her nighttime clothes, the phone rang. She sighed wearily, slowly walking to the main room of her apartment and grabbing the phone. Flipping on the television, Diane said, "Hello?"  
"Hallo and good mornin', Diane," said a familiar voice on the other end.  
"Oh, good morning, Solomon. I just woke up . . . " Diane mumbled.  
"Ye sound tired, m'dear. I hope 'twas not me who awakened ya," he said apologetically.  
"Nah, it's about the time for me to get up anyway. What's going on, friend?"  
"Ah'm sure ye know what day today happens to be. Ah know ah could nehvah fo'get one wha' happened last year . . . do ye still want t'help out wit' de fruit today, hon?"  
"Absolutely. I've been wanting to move on since September 12, unlike the rest of the world," Diane said, a bit surprised that he would even give her the option not to work with the fruit.  
"Ah knew ye'd be willin'. Just had to make sure, yanno. Do ye got de TV tube on? Dey be readin' de names of de victims," Solomon said mournfully.  
"Yes, I'm watching it right now, sadly . . . " Diane replied in much the same fashion. The solemn speaker reading names on Diane's television was coming to the end of the victims list from the World Trade Center and the two flights, the crowd attending the remembrance ceremony perfectly silent.   
" . . . Jack Weber. John Xavier. Mary Jane Zoeller . . . " 


End file.
